


The Shadow on the Wall

by rachel2205



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:53:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachel2205/pseuds/rachel2205
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Produced for the prompt: <i>Renly never dies. How does this change things for the Tyrells, Brienne, Stannis, the realm? If you want to focus on Renly specifically, I'm totally down with that, but if you want to zoom in on another character/plot that would be affected by Renly surviving that's equally awesome.</i></p>
<p> In the game of thrones, for every life saved there is a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shadow on the Wall

BRIENNE

“Granted,” Renly had said, the sweetest word he could have given her, when she knelt in the crowded tent in the centre of his encampment and begged to arm him for the coming battle. On her knees, sweat plastering her yellow hair to her brow, she knew that the other knights laughed at her, but she cared not. My life for you, she thought, turning her face up to her king, and he smiled and granted her request.

The camp was restless that night, men’s bellies coiled tight with the anxiety and excitement common the night before a battle. Brienne could feel the tension running through the tents like a shiver across her skin. But she could think no further ahead than when she would dress her king for battle. She was not a graceful woman, but she could do this gracefully, ease him into battle as he had flown her across the dance floor all those years ago in her father’s hall, the day she had fallen in love with him. He is a true knight, she had thought then, as he spun her across the floor and didn’t seem to find it strange that at fourteen she could look him in the eye. Half a head taller than him now, Brienne was more devoted to her king than ever, and so she waited through the dark hours of the night for her time to come, and the only shivering she did was with impatience. 

Night began to thin at last into deep grey gloaming, and ready herself for battle, Brienne went to her king. Brienne nodded to her brothers of the Rainbow Guard, Parmen and Emmen, then went through into the royal pavilion. It was much warmer inside than out, air heated by a brazier, but Brienne thought how Renly could warm any room by his presence alone. 

“Brienne,” he said, looking up as she entered. Lords Tarly and Rowan were already here, talking tactics, but Brienne barely noticed them as Renly gave her a smile bright as morning. “Is it time already?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she said, and went to arm him piece by piece in gold and green. Being this close to him made her breath stop in her chest, but she continued diligently, tightening straps, testing them with her fingers that they were pulled taut enough but not too tight. He had washed his face in rosewater, she could tell from the smell of him; roses from Highgarden, no doubt, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be jealous of Queen Margaery. She might as well be jealous of the sun or stars. And so she continued working, as Renly talked peacefully on with his lords, seeming hardly aware of her presence at all. But she remembered his smile when she came in, and that would carry her through this whole day, she knew.

Catelyn Stark came to Renly then. Brienne felt some sympathy for her, a woman set to a man’s work, though in this case Lady Stark’s duty was with words, not a sword. Still, she fought for her cause in a world that dismissed her because of her sex, and so Brienne felt inclined to listen to her. Catelyn urged Renly to call a Great Council, and to have the assembled lords vote on who would be their king. Brienne thought that this could be a good idea; there was no real blood claim to the throne, not since Robert Baratheon had usurped it and Viserys Targaryen was, they said, now dead. So it was time not for the rightful king but the right king, and Renly was that, Brienne knew, and she was certain the rest of Westeros would see it too. How could they not?

But Renly laughed at Catelyn’s words.

“Tell me, my lady, do direwolves vote on who should lead the pack?” Brienne carefully set his great helm upon his head. “The time for talk is done. I am ready to show that I am the right king,” he continued, and hearing her own thoughts so closely mirrored, Brienne felt her smile spring up. Renly noticed, and smiled back at her. “What do you think, Brienne? Are you ready to fight?”

“My life for yours, Your Grace,” she said, very earnestly. “I swear it.”

The words seemed to ring out in the room, and though she had always meant them when she said them, tonight they had a ring of sacred oath. Renly’s mirthful look passed from his face, and he met her gaze with serious intent, nodding once. Then a cold wind made the back of her neck shiver, and Brienne turned to see a shadow on the wall of the tent, raising its sword. Her own sword was out of its scabbard within a heartbeat, but there was no one there, only a great dark shadow.

“Stannis,” she heard Lady Catelyn say, her voice puzzled, and Brienne recognised the profile of the shadow. It stretched its sword arm out toward Renly, and she stepped between them, her oath on her lips… And then there was coldness on her throat, a strange frozen pain.

“Cold,” she said, frowning, as her knees sagged. Renly caught her, and buckled a little under her weight, then carefully lowered her to the ground, her head in his lap. Brienne put her hand up to her throat, and her fingers came away bloody. Stannis’s shadow loomed over them both, and then faded. Brienne smiled, because she knew she had saved Renly. _My life for yours._

“I swear it,” she said faintly, looking up into her king’s face. She felt very cold, now, but that didn’t matter, not when Renly was holding her. She felt as light as air, light as she had done dancing with him in her father’s hall, and as she breathed out, a shuddering wet sound, she was no longer here but there, a maiden in her beloved’s arms for the night’s last dance.

CATELYN

A sleepless night on her knees in the sept had been followed by blood and terror, but Catelyn would not show exhaustion or fear. Brienne’s death had been so strange and sudden it made Catelyn’s skin creep with a revulsion that went beyond fear.

“She died for you, Lord Renly,” she said, after the initial shock had passed. Renly’s hands were stained with Brienne’s blood.

“I know,” he said, distracted, his usually lively eyes clouded with confusion and fear.

“ _For_ you,” insisted Catelyn. “That shadow was meant for you. It came from Stannis, and I think – if Brienne had not made that vow –“ Because what had happened in the tent was magic, Catelyn was sure of it, magic of a dark and terrible kind, but she thought that Brienne’s promise may have been a kind of magic of its own. “Do you remember what Stannis said to you, as he left?”

“ _Come the dawn, we shall see._ ” Renly looked out of his tent, to where the first glimmers of sunrise caught on crests and shields, and cast the pavilion into a ruddy haze. He looked back at Catelyn, face grim. “He didn’t mean battle.” 

“You see what weapons your brother has at his disposal?” said Catelyn, thinking of the red woman, eyes like blood. _Look to your sins,_ she had said. Renly nodded, his face paler than she had ever seen it. 

“Yes. But he failed. And I mean to rout him so thoroughly today that he will never have the chance to succeed again.”

And so Renly rode out to meet his brother. They took Brienne with them to show the men what levels Stannis would stoop to, that he would try to kill his brother through witchcraft and treachery instead of honest battle, and they rode to war shouting the Maid of Tarth’s name. Catelyn, left behind at the camp, thought bitterly how proud Brienne would have been to hear that, and how little it meant from these men who had hated and scorned her only hours before. But at least Brienne’s death had served one good purpose: it had stopped these silly boys playing at war, and had made them realise they needed to fight a real one.

It was sunset before Renly troops came back. Stannis’s forces had been broken, she heard, broken and pushed back, and Stannis himself had retreated with his priestess and what men were left to him. The day was Renly’s, but the war was not won, nowhere near. Stannis would not give up after one defeat. 

“Are you ready to talk now, Your Grace?” said Catelyn, when at last, deep in the night, she was granted a few moments with Renly. She gave him the title as a peace offering, though Catelyn thought Renly might be too tired to notice. He looked older, now, than his years; years older than he had looked this morning. He sat for a long moment in silence, and Catelyn wondered if he had fallen asleep with his eyes open, when at last he lifted his head and looked at her.

“I am. But not with you,” he said. “I think it’s time I met your King in the North.”

MARGAERY

“We’re almost at Riverrun, Your Grace,” said Margaery’s handmaid. And thank the gods for that, thought Margaery, lying back in her litter. This journey had taken an age, through countryside blackened and scarred by war. The journey would have been more interesting on her palfrey rather than shut up in a litter, but Margaery had a secret hope that she would not risk riding on the back of a horse. It was very early days, if she was right, but Margaery’s courses had come as regularly as the full moon ever since the first time she bled, on her thirteenth birthday in Highgarden. Her mother had given her a spice cake and said being a woman was a blessing and a curse. Margaery hoped that now her missing bleeding was a sign of a blessing, and in the shadowy litter she rested her hand on her stomach and prayed hard.

Renly had won his battle with Stannis, but Margaery could see the victory brought her husband little comfort. The details of Brienne’s death had quickly spread, and Renly, Margaery was sure, feared that his brother’s enchantress would soon find another chance to bring him death. He needed a total victory against Stannis, and soon. For that reason he had agreed to parlay with Robb Stark in person. He was determined, he said, to find terms to their mutual satisfaction, and to bring this war to a close once and for all.

Margaery went to him in the midst of his preparations.

“Will we be gone long, Your Grace?” she asked sweetly.

“Some weeks, perhaps… But you don’t need to come, my dear. I would rather you went back to Highgarden and stayed safe there.” 

“Could you leave us alone for a moment?” Margaery asked Renly’s men, and once they were alone she looked at him. 

“I’m not staying behind, Renly,” she said, quite seriously. “I am your queen, and I will go with you. And on the way, you will spend every night with me, because you need to get me with child.”

Renly, so confident in the rest of his life, as usual grew flustered at this, as he had done the day she had stripped herself naked for him. 

“I meant what I said,” she continued. “The best way for us to defeat your enemies is to put your baby in my belly. Loras is going to come and help tonight,” she said, and ignored his eyes widening. “After that, hopefully you can manage without him, but if not…” She shrugged. “You are a king. Once I have your baby, and our line is secure, no one will dare speak out against you, whatever you choose to do in your bedchamber.” 

Renly was speechless. At last he managed to say:

“Loras has agreed to this?”

“Loras loves you,” she says gravely, “as I do. And he will do whatever he has to do to keep you safe.” Margaery leaned in and kissed his cheek. “We’ll see you tonight.”

Despite her confident words, as evening approached Margaery found herself grow nervous. She was no virgin, but she had been very careful in her choice of lovers so far, and each had been not only interested in her, but also in her pleasure. Renly, meanwhile, could barely stand to look at her when she was naked, and while she was confident Loras could rouse his interest enough to penetrate her, she doubted Renly would be interested in the kind of foreplay that would make penetration comfortable. 

And so Margaery took matters into her own hands, as she had so often done before. In this case quite literally, as she spent a little gasping time with her fingers pressing inside her cunt, thinking of handsome men she had known, until she was wet enough for Renly to have her. Then Margaery washed her hands and sprinkled them, and her breasts, with rosewater, and went with a flush in her cheeks and her head held high to her husband’s tent, where Loras mouthed at Renly’s cock until he was hard enough for Margaery to get astride him. Margaery held Renly’s hand and moved gently on him, and looking at her brother kiss her husband she thought of the child they would all make together. It made her muscles quiver around Renly’s prick, little spasm of wanting, and her husband’s eyes fluttered open. He liked that, she thought, and tightened around him again, and again; and so when he came, although Loras’s mouth was on his throat, Renly was looking at Margaery. There was some satisfaction to be gained from that. 

Now she was on the road to Riverrun, where she would meet with the Starks. Hopefully soon she could give Renly the news that she was carrying his child. In the meantime, she wondered if this Robb Stark was as handsome as she had heard. Not that it mattered, really, because she intended to charm him either way. Her husband needed his alliance, and Margaery… Well, as she had said to Lord Baelish: she didn’t want to be a queen. She wanted to be _the_ queen.

Smiling, Margaery lay back in her litter. She was confident she would get what she wanted. That was how Tyrells were raised, after all.


End file.
